Quiet Companionship
by LastChancetoBreathe
Summary: All people had ever done since he'd woken up was talk and insult and inundate and order and instruct and condescend and babytalk him. There was far too much noise in this world and no one seemed to appreciate the beauty of silence or the value of quiet companionship. No slash.


Steve is my favorite Avenger and I just realized that I have yet to write a single piece about him. Hence, this fic was born. =)

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Avengers_.

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After they ate shawarma, Tony opened up what was left of his tower to the rest of the Avengers.

"Only for one night!" He quickly added. "I'm not sure I can stand looking at such ugly mugs for much longer."

"You're so kind," Natasha sneered.

"I'm glad you noticed."

Steve trudged after the rest of the gang, rubbing his eyes sleepily, thankful for once that Stark took charge. He wasn't sure he could handle giving any more orders at the moment. Every inch of him ached. He was pretty certain even the roots of his hair tingled in protest.

He was too tired, in fact, to even marvel at Stark's sleek elevator as it took them all up to the penthouse. They piled out when the doors opened. Tony waved a hand in the general direction of the other bedrooms before he disappeared in the direction of his own, muttering something about how taking a hot shower would never rid him of all the alien guts staining him.

Natasha and Clint, with a few gentle touches and quick looks, disappeared into another of the bedrooms. Bruce waved a half-hearted goodnight as he slipped into the one next to theirs.

"My good captain!" Thor yawned and clapped a strong hand on Steve's shoulder. It was almost enough to send him to the ground. "I fear battle has wearied me and I must retire. Have a good night."

"Goodnight, Thor." Steve watched the god go, taking the last room along the corridor. He thought about following him, but his legs didn't want to move any farther. He tightened his grip on his shield, the familiar weight comforting him as he realized just how tired and alone he felt.

It was strange to be lonely at a time like this. The world was safe, they had actually managed to bond somewhat as a team, and he was no longer beating a bag to death in the gym, waiting to be useful to someone.

But he couldn't escape the nagging feeling that none of this would last. Their camaraderie was only temporary. Soon everyone would go their separate ways and he would be left alone again, to face all of the noise and hubbub of a world he no longer recognized.

Steve shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking such thoughts. The bedrooms seemed too far away so he trudged over to the couch in the half-demolished sitting area in front of him and sat down.

His shield came to rest on the floor, followed quickly by his gloves and boots. But as he started to pull off the top layer of his uniform, he couldn't quite contain the gasp that escaped him. Torn stomach muscles violently protested his movements and reminded him that he'd taken a direct hit to the stomach not too long ago.

It took forever for him to finally wriggle out of the top half of his costume so that he could examine the wound. When he tossed the clothing aside, he felt his insides turn as he got a good look at his injury.

It was black and angry red in the center of the wound, with a faint tinge of green around the edges. Pus started to leak out around the area and he could the heat coming off of it. Definitely infected.

Super serum or no super serum, if he didn't take care of this now, it would turn ugly.

But everyone would be asleep. He couldn't wake them up…not after they'd had such a rough day.

Some considerable effort was needed to drag himself up off of the couch again, but he managed to get to his feet. Tony's bar wasn't too far off and he figured he could use the sink to wash off his wound. Whether that would be enough to prevent infection from setting in was another story altogether, but it was all he could manage for now.

His shuffling feet carried him over to the bar and he leaned heavily on the counter when he got there, black spots dotting his vision. There were no towels to be seen except for the hand towel and, though it probably wasn't the cleanest, it was the only thing available to him at the moment.

He thanked his lucky stars that at least faucets still worked the same way as he cranked on the hot water and soaked the towel under the stream. A half-strangled scream escaped him as he tried to wash the wound. Dull throbbing pain suddenly flared into hot, blistering daggers. His hands shook as he tried to wash out the towel and clean the wound again.

"Capsicle," Tony's tired voice came from around the corner, followed by the freshly showered billionaire himself. "JARVIS told you were…what _are_ you doing?"

Steve imagined he looked a strange sight – all missing boots, gloves, and shirt hunched over a sink. The last person he wanted to see him like this was Stark. Maybe if he came up with a creative lie the man would go away. "I was just trying to get some of the dirt off."

Tony snorted. "Okay, I know you're from the past, but I'm pretty sure they had showers in your day…at the very least bathtubs, both of which I happen to have in abundance. And if you need directions, all you have to do is ask JARVIS so he won't have to drag me out here because you don't know how to clean yourself properly."

Steve hunched over the sink more, feeling a headache creep along his brow and settle around the general vicinity of his eyeballs. Whatever energy convinced him to come over to the sink in the first place was quickly abandoning him. "I don't…I don't want a shower."

"Look, you smell as ripe as the rest of us, so at least for the sake of the people sleeping here tonight, get your star-spangled butt into the bathroom." Tony kept coming closer, rubbing a fist across his eyes.

The soldier wasn't certain he could handle much more of the man's derision. His abs and head were hurting enough without Stark shredding his last few bits of dignity. "Don't worry about me."

"Worry about you? Now you're getting all touchy-feely on me, Cap, and I'm not sure how to respond to that. I just want you to take a shower so I don't have to smell you anymore and I can finally get some much deserved rest."

"Then go," Steve snapped, patience almost completely gone. "I'll take a shower, just go. I'm sure you're exhausted, you nearly died today. Go rest."

Tony leaned against the counter next to him and crossed his arms. "I will as soon as you prove to me that you're not going to collapse as soon as I leave the room."

Steve focused his gaze back on the towel he clutched in his hands. Pink-tinted water leaked from the corners. Admitting he was injured to the man was about as appealing as eating live coals, but he saw no way around it. "To be honest, I don't think I can move from this sink."

"And what has brought our mighty Capsicle so low?" Tony chirped.

If Steve had been in a better mood, he would have caught the concern in the question, but all he could hear was the sharp, biting humor. It was just too much for him now. All people had ever done since he'd woken up was talk and insult and inundate and order and instruct and condescend and babytalk him. There was far too much noise in this world and no one seemed to appreciate the beauty of silence or the value of quiet companionship. He wrenched himself away from the sink and staggered toward the couch, still clutching the wet towel. "It doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"You can barely walk across the room; you're the epitome of good health." Though Tony's tone was sharp, he came alongside Steve and gingerly wrapped one of the soldier's arms around his shoulders. Steve kept his other hand pressed against his wound, the towel soaking up most of the pus and blood that leaked out.

They made it to the couch and Tony eased him down. His formerly tired face now came alive with interest, dark eyes sparkling at the thought of solving another problem. "Now what have you done to yourself?"

Steve gave up any remaining pretense that he was fine and removed the towel so the wound became visible.

Stark winced. "What did you do? Try to shove your guts through a meat grinder?"

"Got hit by a weird alien weapon…didn't seem so bad at first."

"Sure, cooking your entrails is perfectly normal."

Steve almost snapped again, but this time he caught a trace of worry in the billionaire's eyes. Perhaps sarcasm was the man's coping mechanism. He'd seen many soldiers do the same thing. "Do you have some disinfectant or something? I don't need much, just something to kill the bacteria….my body will take care of the rest."

"You need Banner." Tony started to walk in the direction of the bedrooms.

"No, don't wake him up. He's exhausted, you all are. I just need some simple disinfectant. I'll be fine, I promise."

"Right, 'cause if you need help, you'll ask for it." Skepticism wasn't quite a strong enough word to described Tony's body language. But he stopped heading for the bedrooms and instead went to the bar and grabbed a first aid kit from under one of the cabinets. He brought it over, set it down, and started rummaging around in it for some antibacterial cream.

When Steve tried to take it from him, Tony slapped his hand. "Nope. I may be more of an inventor, but I've done a few medical procedures in my life."

The soldier felt his eyes stray to the arc reactor. "You know, I was wrong about you. All those things I said about you…on that plane…I was wrong. I'm sorry."

Tony didn't meet his eyes as he put cream on his fingers and then started spreading it over the wound. He was surprisingly gentle. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I felt like being a hero today."

"Stark," Steve tried again, almost pleading. Why was it so hard to even apologize to this man?

"Capsicle, we're getting into strange and uncharted territory right now and I'm not in the mood. Besides, you were right. Who knows? Maybe your words gave me the guts to go fly out into space." Tony still kept his eyes firmly fixed on the wound, but his jaw tightened as if it were physically uncomfortable for him to say these words. "And you're much more than a lab experiment gone right…something right had to be there first. And I'm pretty sure we all saw what that something was today."

Steve didn't know what to say. He didn't think he'd ever seen Tony this open and honest before. "You're a good man."

Tony snorted. "And you're a bag of marshmallows."

Any further conversation was cut off as Tony carefully put some bandages on the wound and then stood up. "Now, do I have to tuck you into bed as well or do you think you can manage it yourself?"

"I think I can manage. Thank you, Tony."

"Couldn't very well let America's Golden Boy die after fending off an alien invasion now could I?" Tony got up and headed in the general direction of his room. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight." And as he watched the billionaire go, Steve couldn't help but think that maybe he wasn't so alone after all.


End file.
